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One Man and His Shed.

The Anna Raccoon Archives

by Anna Raccoon on September 14, 2014

I needed to open a can of treacle today.

Mr G was off in the middle distance, roaring up and down the field on his tractor; the man who cut the hay had had a wobble mid field, and the resulting bend in his perfect tram lines offended him bitterly. No chance of attracting his attention in the midst of such an important task. I ventured into the inner sanctum, the atelier, Mr G’s version of ‘the shed’; alone, unescorted, free to roam; usually I am headed off to safer pastures at the first sound of my footfall.

The first thing to note is that the shed is precisely the same size as our house, indeed, it sits directly underneath our house. Some 8 metres by 15 metres. Or to put this tactfully from a more feminine point of view, we could double the size of the bloody house were Mr G to relinquish his shed. I might suggest it to him. Quietly. On a good day.

It is a most salubrious environment. It’s got pictures on the wall and everything. Sailing ships, Racing cars, and those ghastly Fairy pictures I won’t have in the house.

Cool, even in the present 35 degree heat. Cooled, I might add, by a most desirable asset, a glass floor over the mill stream, whence you can gaze in wonder at the sight of several gallons of water pouring out of the mill stream and tumbling over the rocks to rejoin the river. I have often found Mr G and his male friends standing companionably, stroking their chins in contemplation at this wonder of gravity, as they discussed important matters of state like whether a 35mm or 25 mm pozi-drive screw would be the correct fixing.

Not that it would be cold in the winter, for I note three radiators – one I recognise from the house before last, another, no couldn’t be – from the house in England? Surely it didn’t move house with us, must have done I suppose. It sits under a window with a perfect view of the river; a purpose made bench on top holds a model boat, a wondrous metre long confection with, so I am told, 3,000 hand made copper plates on its hull – but then again, it would be perfect for a computer on a winters morn, warm, cosy, inspirational, just the place to write whilst waiting for the bread to rise…

Unlike our kitchen, it has a perfectly tiled floor, easy to keep clean I told myself as I wandered around in search of the paint can opening wotsit. Spacious cupboards, that I recognised as being the wardrobes fitted in a previous house when we bought it (there’s a thing, I had no idea they had travelled with us!) line one end, keeping a vast array of power tools with perfectly coiled leads, free of dust. The doors glide effortlessly, oiled to perfection, one hand is all that is required to view the interior. Floor to ceiling shelving inside, just right for an array of bottled fruit, and all the china, presently stored in the garage. Wasted on some 30 odd items of Black and Decker drill sideways/up/down/in your ladies bedchamber….at the bottom, neatly stacked, stood a pile of rags – why I do declare, that is a piece of the duvet cover I threw out five years ago, and there, a piece of my aunt’s tablecloth, and look, the t-shirt I said I’d shoot him in if I ever caught him wearing it again. All neatly cut up. All neatly stacked up. Unlike the clothes I pick up from the bathroom floor every day.

To the right are stacks of drawers. Beautifully made wooden drawers, with brass handles (do I recognise those handles from Uncle Dave’s old chest of drawers? I’m sure I do) each one configured to precisely fit the tools inside. Sub divided, so that nothing ever gets muddled up. Two inches high for the spanners, 3 inches for the collection of hammers, another holds paint brushes in every size and shape, immaculately cleaned, spun, and lovingly put away. Still no paint can opener, but what a place to store your kitchen equipment! Why you could keep a mountain of kitchen gadgets in those drawers.

Then long wooden counters ( no wonder we spend so much money in the wood shop!) that hold a magical array of router bits, bits with the curve on top then a corner, some with the corner first, then a wavy bit, hundreds of them, each one sunk into its own purpose made hole. You could have the bread maker there, and the Magimix next to it, and still have tons of space to roll out pastry. You wouldn’t even have to put the toaster away every day, it could just sit there, sulking, in case you needed it. And look! Shelves above the counter, with slotted racks to hold chisels, dozens of them, all perfectly sharp, all facing the same way, big ones on the left, small to the right…why a girl could just move her wooden spoons and her potato masher into place without changing a thing!

Aha, a cupboard, what have we here? Hundreds of tins, square Oxo tins, oblong Old Holborn tins, round 50 Players cigarette tins, Tate and Lyle syrup tins (he must have been retrieving them from the bin for years) – screws, tin tacks, rose headed nails, more screws, washers, widgets, wing nuts, wotsits, and more wotsits, no paint can opener. Wooden boxes, large, small, in between, ancient; brass handles, old door locks, keys, Jesus wept, must be the keys to every house we ever had! Hinges, brass; hinges, iron; hinges, leather; – who uses leather hinges these days?

Plastic finger plates from the house before last, (why ever didn’t he throw them away?) rolls of electric wire, more wire, connectors for my computer, plugs, bit of plugs, more bits of plugs, old seed trays filled with more wire, washing machine connectors, a car jack, starter leads, tow rope, half a lawn mower – hang on, we ditched that lawnmower in England ten years ago, no wonder we needed a truck just to move the workshop! A set of pram wheels – pram wheels, for pity’s sake! What have we here? If it isn’t the neck of my stone swan! It’s been holding the door open since time immemorial without its head!

Ancient iron hooks, seed trays full of burnt iron nails – don’t tell me, he’s been saving them from the wood burner! Tubes of Silicone, Quick Fill, No Nails, Gutter Repair, Instant Stone, No Leak, Liquid Bitumen. Half a dozen of those metal guns you fit them in. Why would you need half a dozen?

No paint can opener.

Lathes, and rip saws, flat bed sanders and chop saws stand on trolleys, on wheels, that they might be wheeled to the perfect spot for use. Planers, and Router tables.

Rulers, tape measures, an entire drawer full of them. Measuring gauges in all shapes and sizes. Set Squares, another drawer. Screw drivers, dozens and dozens of them, and what have we here? Screw driver with head bent over, just the thing to open a treacle can…

Yank, yank, creak, yank…ping!

And the lid flew off and landed on the floor – upside down, naturally, right at Mr Gs feet.

‘What the Hell are you doing woman, you’ve got treacle on my floor’, he said, reaching down to the ready cut up supply of perfectly folded cloths, and getting down on his hands and knees to wipe the offending blemish away.’Why didn’t you use the paint can opener’? sayth he, opening a drawer full of the bally things.

I’ve been banished back to my minuscule kitchen, that was to be expected. I’ll do the washing up first, so that I can balance the bread maker on the draining board; I’ll have to unplug the computer of course, otherwise there’ll be nowhere to plug it in. Whilst the bread is proving, I can get the ironing board from its hiding place behind the bedroom door, retrieve the iron from the shelf under the bathroom sink, the ironing from under the window seat in the front room, and PLOT. No wonder he never lets me in there.

I have to work this out carefully. My need is greater than his. He can have a shed down the bottom of the garden like everyone else. Size of shed? 6′ x 10′ should be big enough, once the junk is cleared out.

Your suggestions as to tactics would be appreciated. Should I tell him first, or just do it next time he goes down the wood yard for 3 lengths of roofing batten?

* ‘One Man and his Shed’ was first published on July 19th, 2012.

** Ms Raccoon is on her hols until Sunday, so has been digging some old posts out of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet to keep you amused…she is happy to report that this post had its desired effect, and over the past six months Mr G was shamed into crafting a wondrous kitchen of desired size and storage capabilities, with adjoining proper larder, in what was the next door goat shed. It is a joy to work in, or rather sit in and gaze out of the magnificent new window – well, Mr G now has time on his hands again and is a perfectly competent cook. No point in barking yourself and all that. I am showing my gratitude by giving him five days off work and taking him to Marrakech. I’ve even ironed his shirt for him.

*** Several people have asked if I could creep into the man cave and take some pictures – one morning I was up before Mr G and managed to do just that.

Here, in all its glory, is the man cave – now trundling its way across the English channel as you read this.

My wife would be proud of him! She has OCD as well. Every damn thing has a proper place and God help me should I put a cup in the wrong place or with the handle facing the wrong way… She says her dad’s workshop was just like that which probably explains a lot.

I don’t have a cave now. I retired 10 years back and when we moved the study was relinquished. I wanted a house without one because I got sick of being self employed and running the business from the study. I will admit that there’s loadsa stuff in the garage – including the car. I insist on that – including the kitchen cupboards from the house before last that were ripped out when we had the kitchen replaced in 1987. They’ve moved twice and have even been cut down to fit ever decreasing garages. It’s nowhere as tidy as Mr G’s but I confess I like to hang onto things. Just this morning I found the perfect use for that bit of 1.5″ plastic pipe I’ve had since God knows when.

I trust that he will be using these excellent tools to create the perfect kitchen for you in your new home to impress all your friends when they drop around for coffee. Mrs D says you should appeal to his ego. She’s under the mistaken impression this works on me so please don’t disillusion her.

Oh – and I was greatly impressed by the vintage stereo speakers. One needs good sounds whilst one is slaving away for the greater good!

You don’t realise what an insidious effect you’ve had on him over the years. It’s just too neat. Where are the half-completed projects? Where is that broken gadget which is just waiting for a left handed giggling pin to materialise out of another dead gadget so that it can be returned to its rightful place in a forgotten corner of the kitchen? There are dark powers at work! My son’s workshop is nearer the male ideal. We have a tall bench for him and a short bench for me. Floor standing tools are sprinkled here and there, with hand tools in properly organised drawers and where we’re working and under the benches and on the benches and scattered about the floor. The power tool cables are knitted into a nest any rat would be proud of. Much of the floor is taken up with a 4-poster ramp on which sits a customer’s car. While working on it yesterday we were cutting metal outside using a plastic dustbin as a workbench. Now THAT’s a workshop – and a pain in the arse – and we’re tidying up tomorrow!

Makita are more in the line of Snap On than B&D’s for quality. Nice shop but with those wood working machines a little too crowded for space for my liking. I had a small work area before I bought this place. It was built as a large workshop and then the living quarters were added by the previous owners, much better way of doing it! Tidy and organized tools by the way is the only way work of any decent quality can be done, I find it annoying when family members borrow tools and don’t put them back the way they found them, if at all, let alone breaking them.

Sharp eyes! Actually the number plate from my aunt’s old Morris Traveller which came to France with us and is now on French plates…. As will be my new Fiat from today – 30 days grace to put on French plates has expired, thus invalidating insurance – English won’t insure it whilst I am still resident in France, so switch to French plates via lengthy wait in Gendarmerie this morning, drive to England on French insurance, put in garage, apply to re register on English plates, then re-insure in England…..Bureaucracy – Pah!

I have the joy of taking my diesel VW to the garage today to scan the on-board computer for error codes, before I submit to a government mandated exhaust pollution test, except their system cannot handle diesel vehicles, so $50 later and their very own on board computer scan I will be graciously allowed to buy government mandated insurance. This idiocy is only imposed on drivers who live in and adjacent to Vancouver, it is quite OK to “pollute” the atmosphere with poorly tuned vehicles across 95% of British Columbia. Can you spell money grab?…….Bureaucracy – Pah!

I am in the middle of registering a London Taxi for a good pal over here dans La Dorgdogne. Quite apart it has to go for a seperate inspection, Les Mines because it has a Certificat de Characteristiques and not a Certificat of Conformite, the regs have changed and now despite registering a RHD ’72 Citreon DS last year, because my pal only has a residance secondaire and therefore does not pay tax on income in France, the local tax office have refused to issue the Vetuste des Impositions de Salare which allows him to register it in his name. I always was of the impression that the tax office just supplied this document to circumnavigate the need for an 846 A, which is issued by les Douannes for vehicles imported outside of the E.U. but this seems to have changed. So now it has to be registered to me in the U.K. as I can then register in my name over here, I have got it through it’s controle technique so I have less than 6 months before it has to be tested again so as to be able to register it in my pals name and then after 6 months I can ‘ sell ‘ it back to him. Vive La France and it’s pedantic fonctionaires!